Getting to Know You
by SomeKindofAuthor
Summary: Dylan and Max are supposed to be together. He knows this. But after Fang leaves, Max's aversion to him brings up doubts.


**Getting to Know You**

"You will never be my right hand," she said.

"I know," he replied softly. It was painful to hear her say that, and he agreed only because he knew that she would eventually come around. Although when she looked at him like that, as though he was the summation of all the evils that came out of Pandora's Box, he started to wonder whether the scientists may have been wrong. If maybe her perfect match _was_ Fang, and Dylan was to be permanent background material.

His role with the other flock members was so easy. He was not the Father- not yet. Fang's departure was too close for him to be patriarch. But he was the Big Brother. Iggy got annoyed, sometimes, when Dylan would step in to help Nudge out or soothe Angel when she got frustrated with humanity's stupidity, but he could tell that Iggy would rather not share the full weight of Fang's absence and was silently grateful that Dylan picked up the slack that he wasn't used to. A few quips about pop-culture gained Total's favor. The Gasman was cautious at first. The figurative guard-dog of the flock was careful with the new-guy, protecting his sisters and his best friend. Eventually, Dylan threw him a bone in the form of his knowledge of weaponry and wars and after talking for hours about the benefits and disadvantages of the U.S. military's latest toy, his tail wagged and his snarl lessened and Dylan was officially through the gate.

But Max...

Oh, Max...

He was made, literally created for her. And the fact that she rejected him constantly was painful. As though she was rejecting his existence.

Which was, in fact, exactly what she was doing whenever they passed each other and she threw her shoulders back, lifted her face, tensed her mouth and walked on without a word.

Oh, Max.

She didn't love him. He understood that. She loved Fang. He understood that. But they were meant to be together, and that was irrefutable.

Wasn't it?

Sometimes he wondered if he loved her. Then he would wonder if it mattered.

It mattered to Max. She tried to explain it to him once.

"You don't even know me," she said, exasperated.

"But I do," he insisted. He told her about the files that he had memorized. "By heart," he said. "An entire database of you is written on my heart."

She laughed bitterly, a sarcastic comment forthcoming, and the only reason why it didn't come was because Max saw the look on Dylan's face. Confusion. Hurt. This was his life she threw away with a giggle.

She frowned, and tried to explain. "You know _data_. Statistics. But you don't know me. A scientist's algorithm can figure out how likely it is I'm going to punch someone. Like, ninety-nine percent. But you don't— Fang knew— There's always that one percent that scientists never factor in. That one percent comes from knowing me. As me. Not as a string of numbers."

So let's get to know each other, he suggested.

Dylan knew how many times Max had cried. It was written in her file under W for Weakness. Somehow, though, as her eyes glistened and she bit her lip to keep from choking on her sobs, he thought she looked the strongest that he had ever seen.

He decided he loved her.

She couldn't answer. She tried, but every time she opened her mouth, a small sob would escape and her eyes would narrow as though she was thinking_ This isn't supposed to happen,_ and to keep it from happening again, she kept her lips pressed tightly together, only shaking her head in response. _Stupid question_, she said with her silence.

Then she left. Probably to cry without having to keep up pretense of being the dry-eyed bad-ass.

He wanted to be the one she ran to when she cried. But he knew that she was disappearing into Fang's arms. Even if Fang wasn't actually there; imagination was a powerful thing.

The scientists had made him logical to balance Max's emotional and rash, often illogical decisions. So he thought this through.

Max was sad.

Why?

Max loved Fang.

Why?

Fang knew her inside out.

Therefore:

Dylan must get to know Max. The real Max. Not the Max created from 1s and 0s and numbers and variables. The Max who had stood in front of him, trying to glare the tears away. He would know her and she would love him and he would love her and everything would end the way it was written in his manila debriefing folder. The way it was supposed to be.

**26 September 2010**

**A/N: **This is the first time that I'm posting something without extensive revision and waiting a while to see if I actually want people to see this. Probably because it's so short. But I wanted to respond to the new direction of Maximum Ride.

Oh, dear. Oh, my. I won't talk about it here because then author's note would be longer than fic. Interestingly enough, I don't hate Dylan. He's just a pawn. Do your thing, dude. But when I read that Max will start to feel something for Dylan in ANGEL, I knew the seventh book was going to be just as out of character as the sixth.

I didn't finish FANG, so I don't want to start a long-term story based on characters and an event that I don't even know well. But I want to write, or I want someone to write, Dylan trying to get to know Max, because, honestly JP, a few glances at his model-esque face and some witty banter are not going to constitute the basis of a relationship. I want them to become friends. And that in itself will be a challenge considering "we're meant to be" and variations thereof are half of his words to her.


End file.
